It almost convinced me.
But on Sunday, everything collapsed.
My sister called, her voice sharp with disbelief. “Did you know Leo got married this weekend?” she asked. I froze. “Check his Instagram.”
And there it was: Leo in a tux, a woman in a white dress, and Lily—our daughter—standing between them in a flower girl dress.
Not a word of warning. Not a request. Just betrayal, neatly filtered and hashtagged.
I drove to the wedding venue, heart pounding, hands shaking.
As I found Lily sitting alone on a bench, her teddy bear clutched tightly to her chest, she looked up with wide, tired eyes and whispered, “Mommy, can we go home now?”
That’s when Leo’s bride approached, smile frozen, asking if Lily could stay some more minutes for “just one last family photo.”
However, before I could speak, a bridesmaid—her friend—stepped in, her voice edged with disgust.
“This was all for show. They planned to use Lily for the wedding photos to make it look like some fairytale blended family. She didn’t even know her name last week.”
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